


Escape

by notthefuckingtitanic



Category: Black Widow (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:53:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthefuckingtitanic/pseuds/notthefuckingtitanic
Summary: Eleven went in. Three came out.





	Escape

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write about all 27 of the girls in the red room but I got tired 11 in so here we are.
> 
> Not MCU compliant.

To begin with she was one of 11.

She learned the other girls’ strengths, their weaknesses and faults. Never their names. They have no names. They have numbers, ranks.

They are not children, not people, but tools.

This is the first thing they are taught; they are tools and they are labeled accordingly. She is number 7. This is her number, her rank.

Her life.

Number 7 does not feel pain, she does not feel mercy, not fear, or remorse. Tools have no feelings.

######

Number 7 knows things. She knows how to drive a fork into a man's chest so he will not take another breath. She knows how to smile and seduce men three - four - five times her age. She knows how to mix poisons, untraceable, for a sole deadly purpose.

She knows how to pirouette so prettily.

Number 7 knows _of_ things. Things the teachers tried to take from her, things the teachers think they took from her.

The blood splattering number 8’s tutu is one of those things.

In the dead of night, when the tools sleep. The teachers have no control.

So number 7 sleeps. She sleeps and she remembers. Her mind is filled with images of many like her; small, defenceless and deadly. But most of all: blank. Wiped.

#####

Soon number 7 is no longer number 7.

She is number 6 and she is one of 9.

She is one of 9 and she remembers.

The teachers didn't take this from her. As punishment or as reward, number 6 does not know.

She will never forget the sound of the previous number 6’s chest cavity as it was punctured, the whimper of weakness that fled from her mouth. The murmur of thank you. These will never be forgotten.

Now she is number 6 and somehow, she feels sadness.

#####

Number 6 becomes number 5 on an unremarkable morning. Those memories were taken from her. The teachers tried so many times to take away those memories.

And they succeeded.

It is only here, in the safety of sleep does number 5 remember her predecessor. Her limp, lifeless body lying on the floor. Dead by her own hand nonetheless. Her throat had been slit, no, sawed. The small wire pulled from her bed frame had served as her tool. For her final act of defiance.

Now number 6 is number 5. She is one of 8 and she can't remember how.

#####

Number 5 becomes number 4 through the method preferred by the teachers; by taking the title.

The last number 4 had her cornered, rightfully so too. She had already killed number 6 and number 7. Easily overpowering them in hand to hand combat. They never stood a chance.

She looked like an angel, her bright hair a halo of death.

Number 5 was trapped. She knew. She let it happen this way. Number 4 took her last steps forward and number 5 lunged. She curled one hand around number 4’s throat and plunged the other into the growing weak spot she had spotted in number 4’s belly.

Number 4’s sharp cries turned to desperate whimpers. She dropped her weapon. How careless. She reached her trembling hands toward her killer. Her saviour. Cradling number 5’s face she whispered her last words: thank you.

Number 4 died. Not peacefully. But in peace.

Number 5 had taken two lives that day. She proved herself worthy of being number 4 and now she is one of 5.

#####

It was -- a long time before number 4 became number 3. But it happened soon enough.

It was gradual. Slow. A painful process for both parties.

The teachers had pitted them against each other. Given them only the clothes on their backs. And their training.

After several days of isolation and starvation, the teachers were impatient.

Number 3 was weak. They both knew this.

She made the first move. A punch. It was hardly felt. Pathetic. Number 4 could see nothing behind number 3’s eyes.

She made it quick for number 3.

Now she is number 3 and she is one of 4. The teachers didn't take this from her. But she wishes they had.

#####

Number 3 became number 2 through no fault of her own.

Number 1 and number 2 had been getting too close. Too -- human. They had even given each other names. Or so number 3 had overheard.

She was forced to watch number 1 and number 2 pretend. Pretend to fight each other, avoiding the other's weaknesses. This went on for days.

They only stopped when the teachers threw them into the Pit. There they refused to touch each other. They just sat on opposite ends of the mass grave, leaning on the inescapable walls.

Number 3 did not understand.

The teachers were angry.

After days of no food being dropped into the Pit. The teachers sent down a feast instead. Number 1 was faster. She dragged all the food into her corner and gorged herself despite number 2’s weakened cries.

The feast was poisoned.

Number 2 knew.

So did number 1.

Now she was number 2 and she was one of 3.

#####

Number 2 never did become number 1.

The title disappeared along number 1 herself.

Number 1 had been angry.

She had stewed in her anger since the last number 1’s death. She had cultivated this plan for years before dropping her mask, showing her true colors.

She razed the compound, our home, to the ground. She killed everyone in her path.

Everyone except number 3. She went her own way, already had her own plan.

Number 1 understood. She let number 3 go.

Then she left, taking me with her.

She still flinches when I call her number 1, growls when I call myself number 2.

She proudly wears the title she earned though. Black Widow. She was the first to truly earn it. And will be the last to ever bear it.

Number 1 tells me to call her Natasha when we are alone and safe.

I did not understand at first.

But now number -- no, _Natasha_. Natasha has taught me how to feel. How to be human.

I think, someday, I will understand.

#####

To begin with, I was one of 11, all tools and bloodhounds under the leashes of our teachers. Now I am one of 2, and we are both learning how to be human.


End file.
